Juice Bait
by Anniepopokios
Summary: Still in deep with the cartel, Juice and Chibs are ambushed and held hostage by a rival gang. Together they struggle to hold on to what they have left while waiting desperately for rescue. Slash warning. Takes place around the end of season four.


Been thinking a lot about these characters recently. This would take place sometime before the ending of the fourth season. The club is still in deep with the cartel, but they're also feeling the consequences of their actions. Juice and Chibs are ambushed and taken hostage by an enemy group. The story is obviously going to revolve highly around a slash pairing. If you don't like it don't read it. Not sure if I'll continue with this or not, it was just a scene I couldn't get out of my head. I love these two, and was anxious to write them in an already developing relationship.

* * *

The fist to his jaw nearly steals the breath from his lungs. It sends him down, body slamming against the hard, cruel cement with a sickening crack. The first thing he sees is the blood, dribbling down his chin from his now broken nose. He curses, head pounding, heart beat booming in his ears. Around him there is so much shouting. The words never make sense above the ringing in his ears.

The only thing that registers is his rage.

Because he's on the ground, bleeding and broken, feeling old and useless. While his victor stands in front of him, an evil crooked smile on his lips. He moves to stand up, but nearly cries when he feels the pain in his ribs. He'd sure they're broken. The sound of him choking on the blood in his throat is disgusting in his ears. But not as disgusting as the shame and disbelief that come with knowing that he does not contain the strength to defend himself.

Or the boy standing a few feet away from him, watching in horror as he is beat down.

Chibs fists tremble and shake at his sides, but lack the strength to get in a blow.

It was the look on that punk's face that really sent him over the edge. He could remember beating that look off of so many brats in his lifetime. But that was years ago, and he knew he just didn't have it in him anymore.

The stench of blood and sweat that fills the room is impossible to ignore. But all that truly matters is that face staring down at him. Those brown eyes so filled with the fear that comes through realization that their escape is not possible. That they cannot successfully fight back.

The apologies are caught in his throat, drowned out by the blood. They're useless anyways. Because nothing he says is going to change anything. Nothing stops the aching, or the scream that rips through his body as he watches them take everything from him. Watches the fist slam into Juice's stomach, and his face contort with pain. He stumbles backwards, suddenly gasping for breath, before he collects himself and attempts to fight back.

But there are hands grabbing at him from all directions, and he struggles to defend himself. Another fist to the face and his vision is blurring. Everything goes black for a moment before his sense rush back painfully, and he realizes that he's on the ground. He feels the rough fingers that grasp around the back of his neck before his face is slammed into the concrete.

Then his vision is swimming and he sees everything and nothing at the same time. There's so many feet kicking against his sides, making him scream and thrash about on the ground, trying to escape. In all the turmoil he stills reaches out, fingers shaking, begging for rescue.

Watches his hand tremble as he screams and bleeds. Begging for the comfort that lay only a few feet from his grasp. The guilt those eyes bring hurts worse than the pain in Chibs head, or the burning in his ribs.

"Don't you worry about it Juicey-boy. I'm not about to let anything happen to ya'." He remembers those words as he hears the door slam open. His eyes shift to the figure that waltz's into the shadowy room. There is something so disgustingly calm about his stride. Because they're both here being beaten to death at the mercy of his very thugs, and this man shows no signs of any humanity. The room goes silent the moment he opens his mouth to speak. The feet leave his side, but the pain continues to burn.

"Enough." The voice that speaks is rough and loud, it echoes through the room, "That's enough for one night. Remember we need them alive." Their attackers disband, taking a few steps back into the darkness. Chibs tries to study the man, tries to get some sort of idea of what they are dealing with. But his eyes blur in and out of focus, and his head feels so tired. He feels his eyelids begging to droop.

"Fuck you man," He hears Juice choking out the words. He watches as the man casually walks over to where Juice lays sprawled out on the dirty floor. He looks into his eyes for a moment, before bringing his foot up and kicking him square in the jaw. Chibs hears the sickeningly crack his head makes when it slams into the concrete. His stomach twists.

Then there's rough hands on him again, but this time they're pulling him too his feet. He feels the warmth of the blood dribbling down his neck as he stands on his trembling legs, barely able to keep himself from falling over. They pin his arms behind his back, and he struggles against their grasp.

Juice is rolling over on the floor, groaning with pain. He can see the red streaks splattered all over his face. That dark voice sounds again, shouting orders that he never hears above the ringing in his ears. The last thing he remembers before blacking out, is looking into those brown orbs, the ones that make him want to pray to a god he knows doesn't exist.

The ones that give him such a rush of emotions and feelings. The ones that belong to the person he wants to protect, love and shelter from the damnations and evils of the world around them.

His only chance at feeling whole again.

Lies bleeding and choking on the cold concrete floor.

* * *

_He remembers watching the rain as it dribbles down the glass. Taking a drag from the cigarette in his mouth before he moves his arm to remove it, careful not to wake the figure laying against his chest, silent and peaceful. He stares down at the dark ink that shakes across the back of his head, he traces it with his fingers. _

_The boy stirs a little bit in his sleep, and instantly he feels guilty. Because he never sleeps anymore, that much he's sure. The dark circles around his eyes are a constant proof of that. As are the bruises that litter that tan skin on his neck. Constantly reminding him that he had not been there, that he had fallen short. Every day he would look at them, and every day he would silently tell himself that he would never let it happen again. _

_He puts his cigarette out, pressing it against the wood of the coffee table beside the couch. His freed arm now drapes over his chest, and he hugs him a little bit closer to him, mentally cursing at himself. The boy mumbles something in his sleep, words he struggles to hear. But he knows them all too well to ignore. A small smile creeps across his lips as he plants a kiss on the back on his head._

_He lets his eyes close. Takes in the peace and calm of the air around them. And for a moment he feels like he can truly breathe. His body is relaxed and at peace, and for a moment he's able to let go some of that guilt and that pain caused by the many years of watching his family be destroyed right before his eyes. Forgets the image of his brother hanging limply from a tree, forgets that dangerous feeling of pleasure and rage as he sliced open Jimmy's face. _

"_Love you too laddie," He whispers to him as the rain continues to pour. _

* * *

"Love you," He mumbles weakly under the blood and the spasms that tear through his body. There are hot tears mixing in with the red streaks of blood, staining the floor beneath him. He chokes on the words, and watches in horror as they're dragging Chibs away. He wants to reach out, to feel that comfort he still remembers so clearly.

But all he feels is cold.

He remembers the taste of those lips, now bruised and covered in blood. Remembers the warmth of those hands that tremble and struggle in the grasp of the enemy.

His eyes never leave those of the Scot, not until they drag him out of the room. Not until they slam the door and leave him alone in the darkness.

* * *

Been having sort of a touch week, guess this is my way of getting it all out! Please let me know what you think by reviewing! Thank you!


End file.
